


Moscow, 1962

by east_wind



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Friends to Lovers, Historical Accuracy, M/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-06 04:09:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11592636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/east_wind/pseuds/east_wind
Summary: A missing scene from the mutant-finding montage in First Class. (Or, as I affectionately refer to it, the Gay Travel Montage)





	Moscow, 1962

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sapphea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphea/gifts).



> Part of a birthday gift for sapphea, without whom this would not have been possible.

“When you described this one,” Erik murmured, just loud enough for Charles, “I didn’t envision a fanatic Communist.” He was relying on the noise of the bread line to mask his muttered words from passerby- this city held great stock in the acquisition of secrets.

“I must admit, neither did I. Have any ideas?”

“He’s not going to come with us, you must have realized that.”

“We can’t just leave him, Erik, things are terrible here. You saw how thin he was, he won’t make it through the winter.”

Erik remembered the fevered light in the boy’s eyes, the sharp cheekbones and gums tinged with blood, and knew Charles was right. The kid was starving already, and his hydrokinesis would offer him no advantages, now or in the winter. “Remember our mission,” he said. “If he doesn’t want to come with us now, he won’t want to work with the others later.”

“You’re right, I suppose, although-” Charles froze, and his fingers went to his temple. His eyes widened suddenly, and he grasped Erik’s arm in panic. “We have to go right now,” he hissed, and pulled Erik down a high-walled alley.

“Wait, Charles, what-” He shook his head and ran, and Erik followed, trusting that Charles knew what he was doing.

Fifteen-odd panicked minutes of running through backstreets, seemingly at random, led them down into the basement of a burned-out building, which had been converted into some kind of shelter. The other occupants had not been as surprised to see them as Erik would have expected, although the atmosphere in the room was guarded and expectant. Charles leaned against the packed-earth wall, hands on his knees, breathing hard. At last, when he had caught his breath, he straightened and tugged his coat and collar back into place.

“Sorry about that,” he whispered. “We were being followed- either KGB or bounty hunters, I couldn’t tell. They’re both after mutants.”

“Shh,” Erik cautioned. “Where are we?”

“Catholic bolt-hole, they can’t pray anywhere else. I heard them thinking about shelter and it seemed like the best chance we had.”

“We can’t stay here for long. What’s your plan?”

“Don’t have one,” Charles said. “I couldn’t think past getting us here.”

The next few hours were spent forming and scrapping and re-forming plans. Each time one thought they’d reached an acceptable solution, the other found a hole in it, or some risk which was too great to take. Often, Erik had to beg details about transportation, border security, and other matters from the Catholics, piecing together his acceptable Russian and their patchy English and hoping he didn’t misinterpret something crucial. Night was falling by the time they could agree on one plan, and Erik was eager to leave. The immediate hungry eyes of the Catholics and the surrounding, invisible weight of the forces hunting for them outside made his nerves hum with tension so that he could scarcely sit still.

Before taking their leave, Charles passed out as many Russian notes as he could spare to the Catholics. A woman with a small child burst into frantic tears, and begged them to take her child with them. Stricken, Charles turned to Erik, and he reached out with his thoughts. _What can we say?_ His anguish poured through even the tenuous connection.

“Madam,” Erik said to the woman, “we cannot take your son. I’m sorry.”

Fresh tears rose in her eyes. “Please-”

Erik pulled some money from his coat pocket, and slipped it to her so the others couldn’t see. “Take him and go, as soon as you can. Try to get to Ukraine, find work on a farm.” He struggled for something else to say to her. “God will protect you.”

A spark of hope lit in her wet eyes, and she went on tiptoe to kiss Erik’s cheek, and then Charles’. Before anyone else could detain them, Erik led the way out of the basement and into the shelter of a corner of the old building, Charles following behind him. After checking to make sure the street was clear, Erik moved quickly, but naturally, towards the tiny post office on the corner. Charles stayed hidden in the building.

In the post office, Erik asked the frail clerk for the estimated delivery speed of mail to Ukraine. The clerk blanched. “Sir, what you ask... it would cost-” He broke off, and merely shook his head. “By train, perhaps two days.”

Erik frowned and nodded, feigning a reaction to the information. “Thank you.”

He turned around and left, moving on to the next step of the plan. He spared a glance back toward the ruined building. In a few minutes, the clerk would have another customer, this time enquiring about when the next post train left for the Ukrainian border. In the meantime, Erik knocked on the back door of the grocer’s shop. This step carried an uncomfortable chance of failure for what was merely a preliminary preparation- the grocer might not wake, or if he did, refuse to sell to a stranger for a thousand different reasons.

Luck seemed to be on Erik’s side, however. The grocer’s wife opened the door, her dark eyes tired. In cobbled-together Russian and German, Erik convinced her to sell, at many times the usual rate, most of the leftover stock from that day. The cost, as it turned out, was inconsequential compared to the relative bounty of food she gave him, packed in neat bundles.

He thanked her profusely, convinced her to take a little extra money, and left silently, the street still free of movement. The post office backed up conveniently to the railyard where the freight trains loaded and unloaded their mail cars. The railyard gate was locked, of course, but that was inconsequential. It was quick work for Erik to pull the pins until each clicked into place, and then open the gate, mindful of its creak. He shut the gate again once he was through, but left the lock undone. As planned, Charles crept into the railyard a few minutes later, and Erik locked the gate again behind him. It was only when he looked at Charles in the light of the gas lamp by the tracks that Erik saw that he had been crying at some point while they were separated. His face must have conveyed his question, because Charles shook his head and smiled ruefully.

“Don’t worry, I- I'll tell you later, okay? Let's find a place to hide, the trains are going to start running at three-thirty this morning.” He moved on down the tracks with an efficiency which suggested he was working very hard to fill the hole in the conversation with action.

Erik followed him, and said nothing, but worry curled in his chest, settling in and making him keep one cautious eye on Charles whenever he could. Farther down the tracks, they found a makeshift shelter in the cab of an old mail truck. Erik sat on the left, where the remaining portion of the side mirror allowed him to watch the gate. Charles sat next to him, knees drawn in close to his chest. After a long time, he stirred and spoke. “Alec was taken away not long after we met with him. The bounty hunters came right into the orphanage.”

Erik was surprised by the grief which struck him like a physical force. “But he was a hydrokinetic,” he said, “his power wouldn’t have been noticed, he was innocent! They had no reason to suspect him!”

“Obviously they didn’t know about him until we came around and visited. We led them right to him.” Tears welled in his eyes and he brushed them away impatiently. “If he had just come with us, we could have saved him.” The last word caught on a sob, and he pressed the backs of his fingers against his mouth to keep from crying again.

“Charles,” Erik said, gently, “remember Belgium? There was no way for us to know what was going to happen. He chose to stay, and that was his choice to make.”

“That doesn’t make it any better,” Charles said.

“I know. Nothing will really make it better until we’re treated like everyone else is. That’s what the project is all about, you said that yourself. Don’t give up on it yet.”

Charles nodded, and gave Erik a watery smile. “I won’t. As long as you don’t, either.” A stray tear still lingered on his cheek, paused on its journey towards his collar.

Without thinking, Erik reached out and brushed it away with a sweep of his thumb. “I would never,” he said, “not as long as we can still save these kids.”

Charles sighed, and laid his head on Erik’s shoulder. “I want to go home,” he said softly. “I want this train to come and I want to get away from here.”

“Try to sleep,” Erik said. “I’ll wake you when it gets here.”

“Mm-hm.”

Slowly, Erik could feel Charles’ breathing steady and deepen. Asleep, his face softened, and his near-constant worried frown which had appeared in the last months eased. Erik looked away then, and stared out the window of the truck, watching the street lamp and waiting on time. The hours passed slowly there, marked only by the movement of the moon. Not long after it had sunk out of sight behind the buildings, however, Erik heard the sound of a train horn in the distance, marking the crossing into Moscow.

He woke Charles, who frowned and mumbled some protest but got up all the same. They left the truck and waited in the shadow of the post office for the train. It came down the tracks no more than a minute later, and guards disembarked as soon as it stopped and went to meet the postmaster.

“Now!” Charles hissed, and they bolted for the open door of the car. Erik slammed it shut as soon as they were through, and held it there with all the power he could muster, blinking to acclimate his eyes to the sudden pitch-darkness. Guards shouted outside and something banged sharply against the door. Charles, fingers pressed to his temple and eyes shut tight, stiffened suddenly. “They’ve got guns, Erik, they’re going to shoot- they can shoot through the door, stop the bullets!”

“I can’t _see_ them, Charles!”

“Let me-” Suddenly, Erik could see double: he saw the inside of the car, suddenly lit from everywhere, so that nothing cast a shadow, like in a dream, and the outside, where guards stood in a half circle, rifles trained on the door. Charles’ thoughts were mingled with his, unfocused and panicked. _The far left_ , Erik thought- no, Charles thought- no, he said it, too, and now Erik really didn’t know which of his senses were his- but when the guard on the far left fired a millisecond later, he caught the bullet and let it fall, harmless, to the ground.

A still silence fell. “ _Мутант_ ,” the left-most guard warned. _Mutant_. Fear trilled in Erik- or perhaps Charles, and likely in them both. The train would never be allowed to leave the railyard, much less continue on to Ukraine.

 _Don’t do anything._ Erik nodded, keeping silent. _Translate for me, please_. He nodded again, and listened hard for voices outside. The double-sight flickered and dimmed, and instead he saw, in sickening flashes, through Charles’ eyes- his own- a guard, and another- he couldn’t track it, couldn’t focus- _Sorry!_ Charles pulled back from Erik’s mind slightly, and the double-sight returned, comfortingly normal compared to what Charles was seeing.

The guards had backed away from the train.

“ _Wait for the KGB._ ” Erik watched one of the guards sway slightly.

“ _Sir_ ,” he said, “ _are you sure_ -”

“ _Silence! There are mutants on that train and they will be ours!_ ” Charles shut his eyes, and took a deep breath. Erik saw through Charles’ eyes as he focused on the captain of the guards- and as a dozen KGB agents came into the railyard.

 _Shit!_ Charles brought his other hand to his temple, and bit his lip. Erik could feel his nervousness in his own mind, but there was nothing he could do to help. _Just hold the door._ He could do that, at least.

An agent was conferring with the captain. The captain pointed to the bullet, then to the train car. The agents and guards fanned out into a semicircle, and moved cautiously towards the train, step by step, rifles raised.

“I can’t, Erik, I can’t get all of them at once,” Charles whispered. His hands trembled. “I can’t control all of them-”

“Yes you can,” Erik said. He was surprised by the steadiness of his own voice. “You can,” he repeated. “Focus.”

His vision stretched and blurred and shifted. He saw through the eyes of the Soviets, one by one, as Charles targeted them, and he saw, as if through the door of the car, their advancing line stagger and slow, and confusion spread over their faces.

Charles’ breathing stuttered, and Erik’s vision shivered and rippled. “Focus,” he said again. “You can do this.”

The soldiers were no more than six paces from the train now. Any closer, and he would not be able to stop all of the bullets. Five. Four. They moved as if through molasses, slower with each step. Three. “ _Come on_ ,” Erik whispered. Charles reached out blindly, and Erik took his hand and held on tight.

Two. In slow motion, the soldiers lifted a foot in unison for the final step. . . and froze in place. The captain alone moved. Erik saw through his eyes as he lowered his rifle. “ _This train is clear_ ,” he said, enunciating every syllable carefully. He turned and walked stiffly towards the conductor’s car. “ _You are free to go. I repeat, you are free to go_.” The conductor shrugged and saluted the captain, and the train’s engine started. Erik let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“It’s not over,” Charles murmured. The train began to pull out of the railyard, picking up speed as it moved away. Erik saw what Charles must have been seeing- the frozen semicircle of soldiers, growing dimmer and dimmer, until Charles’ tenuous connection to them snapped entirely. He let go of Erik’s hand, and pulled away from Erik’s mind, as well, and suddenly all Erik could see was the flat darkness of the inside of the train car. Slightly dizzy, he sat down on a crate of mail. Charles sat as well, slumped against the side of the car, breathing hard.

Erik’s eyes adjusted to the dark just in time to see a wide grin spread across Charles’ face, and to watch him leap to his feet with a triumphant whoop. “That was incredible!”

Erik stood, as well, and Charles wrapped him up in an exuberant hug. “See?” Erik said, “you could too do it.”

“I wasn’t sure, though! For a moment there, when I had the captain, he. . . “ Erik sat and sorted through the food the grocer had given him, and listened to Charles describe every twist and turn of the mental struggle. He found himself unable to keep a smile off his face as he listened, and at last he gave up on fiddling with the food, which was already well-packed, and simply watched Charles pace up and down the car, gesticulating animatedly as he talked. Erik realized, sitting there on the cold floor, that he had become quite fond of Charles during the past months. His plan for the future had until that moment been to work with the C.I.A until he could kill Shaw, and then disappear back into Europe and do something with his suddenly abundant free time. Now, though, he could not quite manage to picture himself leaving. What would he have, without the goal which he had held since childhood? Once Shaw was dead, what was he going to do?

Charles had a life to return to when the project was finished, a life which existed outside of his mutation. Erik had nothing.

He was brought out of his thoughts suddenly by Charles himself.

"Erik? Are you okay?"

He nodded. "I was thinking."

Charles sat down across from him, all his scattered levity smoothed away by open curiosity. "Would you like to talk?"

"What are you going to do once Shaw's dead?"

"I suppose I'll teach somewhere, that's what I had set out to do before all this. I don't know what we'll do about the kids we've found so far, and will find. I've been worried about that, when I've had the time to worry- are we going to just send them home? We're giving them a place where they can be themselves for perhaps the first time, it would be cruel to turn them away once we've used them to fight our battle. But I have no idea how we can integrate them into society and still keep their secret. Raven and Hank would do well enough, but what could we do with Alex? I just don't know." His eyes were dark with worry, and he shook his head, morose.

"I wish I knew what to tell you," Erik said. He itched to reach out and brush away a stray curl which had fallen over Charles' eyes but- some divides were too great to span. Instead he lifted a stray nail from the floor a few feet away and scratched idle patterns with it into the top of a nearby crate.

"What will you do?"

"I don't know," Erik admitted. "I don't have a plan." That was all he could say, really.

"Was that what you were thinking about?"

"Mostly."

Charles nodded, and silence fell between them for a moment, filled by the sound of the train moving over the rails. "Have I ever told you about when I met Raven?"

"No, why?"

"Just because. I was just a kid, then, she and I both were. She pretended to be my mother in the kitchen, and I thought she was a burglar. I convinced her that she didn't have to steal."

"How did she live with you without your parents catching on to the fact that they suddenly had another kid?"

"Oh, well," Charles said, with a dry laugh, "unless she stopped me from showing up for my mother's social events or messed with the decor, I don't think they noticed her. They didn't notice much," he explained, somewhat superfluously.

"I'm sorry," Erik said. And then, before he could stop himself, he was laying out to Charles the whole truth of his childhood, things he hadn't said to anyone, things he hadn't thought about in years. By the end of it, he was crying in earnest, and the tears which had stood shining in Charles' eyes nearly the whole time spilled onto his cheeks.

"There's nothing I could possibly say, but- I understand, now, what I didn't before." He wiped his eyes. "Can I give you something?"

"What is it?" Charles put two fingers to his temple.

"May I?"

"Of course." Erik watched him shut his eyes and concentrate, and he saw a smile spread across his face as he relived whatever memory he was about to-

_Erik was on a pebbled beach. The sun shone golden in the evening sky and the sea sparkled prettily, but what drew his eye was the group of students sitting to his left, on a patchwork of blankets. He moved closer, and saw Charles- young Charles- on one of the blankets. His voice rang out clear and pure as wind off water, and in the perfect sunset-light he and his friends were beautiful..._

"It's my happiest memory," Charles explained, when they returned. "It was the first time I felt myself existing separate from my family, as myself." After a pause, he colored. "I- This was probably the wrong time, I'm sorry-"

“Charles,” Erik said, “it was perfect.” He shook his head; he could say no more.

Charles grinned, and shifted around to sit next to Erik. “The train is going to stop in a few hours for coal. I’d like to sleep a bit, but if you’d like me to take the first watch I will.”

“No, you sleep. I’ll watch.”

“Thank you, Erik.” He turned so that his legs were curled more comfortably, and rested his cheek on Erik’s shoulder. “Is this okay?” He asked sleepily, eyes already closed.

“It’ll do,” Erik said, wryly, and then, in a rush of bravery, he smoothed Charles’ bangs back after all. He could feel Charles smile against his shoulder, and very soon after that he was asleep, leaving Erik alone with his thoughts.

Some time later, he woke, stretched, and tucked his knees up against his chest. Only then did he seem to remember what was happening. “How long has it been?”

“About two hours.”

“Hm.” He stared off blankly, and Erik thought he was falling asleep again, but his eyes cleared a moment later. “We’re still about an hour and a half off from the stop, do you want to sleep?”

Erik wasn’t particularly tired, but he was not sure he had another hour and a half of intelligent conversation in him. “I do. Thank you.” Charles nodded, thoughts already elsewhere. Erik shrugged out of his jacket and folded it, and set it on the crate to stand in for a proper pillow. When at last he let himself relax, trusting Charles to wake him if something went wrong, he was surprised at how exhausted he was.

The next thing he knew, Charles had laid a hand on his shoulder. “We’ve stopped. We should get out on the woods side, I’d like some fresh air.”

“I’ll be right there.” From where he sat, he pulled the door open, lifting it slightly in its track to keep it silent. Charles hopped out, and immediately let out a quickly-stifled cry. Erik leapt to his feet in a panic, and threw his jacket on.

“What happened?”

To his immense relief, Charles was laughing. “Sorry about that! There’s snow on the ground, and I wasn’t expecting it.”

Erik stepped down out of the car and joined him on the edge of the tracks. “What, did you not look before you got out?”

“I wasn’t paying attention- I know, I know, we aren’t in the clear yet, but even you have to admit, it feels safe here.” He was right, as much as Erik did hate to admit it. The conductor had no idea they were aboard, and for miles in all directions there was nothing but snow-cloaked, silent woods.

It made for a peaceful scene, as he and Charles walked farther from the tracks, down an embankment and into the edge of the woods. They walked in silence, parallel to the tracks, for a few more yards before Charles spoke again. “It is really nice here. I wish we hadn’t had to experience Russia like this. I would like to come here again, perhaps if things get better.”

“Yes, that would be nice.” He thought, though, of what would happen post-Shaw. Whether Charles wanted him around or not, the C.I.A. would not be pleased with his presence. “I wish- I wish a number of things, actually,” he said.

“Like what?”

Despite himself, Erik’s heart sped up, which was ridiculous. He took a silent breath. “I wish we had more time.”

“For Shaw? He’s still hiding out, the last I heard from the facility, so it may not be ideal, but we’ll find more kids. It’ll work out.”

“No, Charles, I mean- more time for us. You and I.”

“Oh.” Understanding dawned in his eyes. “Well- with what little time we have, it certainly doesn’t make sense to waste it, yeah?"

“That it does not,” Erik said, and he didn’t have time for a second thought before Charles’ warm hands were on his chest. He carded his own fingers gently, carefully, through Charles’ hair, and- they both froze, hearts beating hard. Erik could feel Charles’ nervousness through the weak link formed by contact, mingling with his own tension. His eyes were wide, and hesitant, and summer-sky blue, and for one long moment they stood transfixed- and Charles laughed, and kissed Erik, smile on smile. His hands drifted to Erik’s shoulders, and Erik’s hands moved to Charles’ back, and they kissed not like the world was ending, but as if it had only begun.

**Author's Note:**

> Edit 3/6:  
> Come talk to me on tumblr! ventum-orientalem.tumblr.com  
> (It's east_wind in Latin because sometimes you just gotta be pretentious like that)


End file.
